"Who'll go on your bond?" he asked, taking up his pen.
"Bond?"
"You must give a justified bond for your appearance before the United States Court in May."
"Oh, I see. I do not know. I have no fr-riends."
"It's only two hundred dollars."
"It might be only two hundred cents, still would it be the same. Yesterday I thought I had fr-riends, but to-day——"
He broke off abruptly, and again Weaver gave a perplexed rub to the top of his head. He opened a door and spoke to a negro boy who passed a waiting life in the anteroom.
"Sam, ask Mr. Gudger to step here, if he's in the building."
Mr. Gudger was a professional bondsman who added this calling to that of real-estate dealer and insurance agent, and interwove the three occupations with some talent and much success.
Von Rittenheim's farm served to secure Gudger against loss, while the mention of its existence caused the commissioner again to rub his head. Why in the world should a man——? He gave up the conundrum in despair, and applied himself to the necessary business.